(Fili/Kili, HIMLING Verse, Rated G, Final Day of FiKiWeek: Anniversaries, for @linane-art and @msilverstar)
Within a hall built of salvaged stones, a fire crackles in the great-room hearth. Heavy tapestries block the sea-chill seeping in through the windows, but the lively hearthfire banishes any sense of gloom.
KÍLI is first to arrive, carrying a large kettle of water which he places over the fire. He is dressed in warm layers of wool topped by a hooded sheepskin caftan. His dark hair is drawn back in a Durin silver clip, then plaited into two sidelocks and a queue. He greets me shyly but sweetly, offering a clumsy hug and a query about my journey to the island.
FÍLI enters soon after, walking with a noticeable limp. Like his brother, he is clad in layers and a sheepskin caftan; he also wears thick woolen gaiters under his boots. His amber hair has been braided like Kíli’s but is wind-tousled. He, too, offers an embrace and a silent smile. Reticence, I’ve been told, is his usual manner.
The brothers sit together on one bench, shoulder against shoulder, and wait for the questions to begin.
ME: Tell me about your life here. How long have you lived on the island now?
FÍLI: Five years.
KÍLI: To the day!
ME: You mean that you landed on Himling’s shore five years ago exactly?
FÍLI: Exactly. You’ve come on a day dear to us.
ME: It’s a great honor. I admire your hall; it’s as comfortable within as it is handsome without. When did you complete it?
KÍLI: Last summer, with our friends’ help.
FÍLI: We’d have been done sooner, but we decided to expand the northeast wing to make more room for guests. That’s where you’ll be lodged tonight.
ME: Is it comfortable living on the island?
FÍLI: Well... as you’ve seen, it’s very windy and wet, so it’s a challenge to stay warm. There’s peat on the north coast, but we mainly cut it for cooking fires. All charcoal must be saved for the forge. (Gesturing to the hearth with friendly mischief) What wood we have comes by supply boat, to be used only on special occasions.
ME: That’s most kind. But when you haven’t any guests, how then do you stay warm?
(The brothers glance at each other furtively, then make a concerted effort to look solemn)
KÍLI: Did you see my sheep?
ME: Yes; they’re everywhere!
FÍLI: That’s how we clothe ourselves. Kíli shears and spins the wool; I stretch and tan the hides. (Grasps collar of caftan) We’ve learned to bundle up. The sheep are good for mutton as well—
KÍLI: Not lamb, though. Never lamb.
FÍLI: (pats his brother’s back) No.
ME: And what about hot water? I know how you Khazâd like your baths.
KÍLI: We have hot springs! You can bathe outside and you don’t have to build a fire or anything!
FÍLI (laughs and elbows his brother) Kíli really likes the springs, but I think we should lay a proper road between here and there. I want to have roads leading to every watchtower, too. It will make it easier for sentries to travel to work and back home again.
ME: Ah! On my way in, I did see a number of other buildings taking shape within the fort walls. Will these be ‘home’?
KÍLI: For townsfolk, yes. We mean to have workshops, smithies, a marketplace… All our friends want to move here!
ME: It must have been difficult to leave them behind so suddenly. How did you find being alone?
KÍLI: It was exciting! We spent the first night sleeping under our upside-down boat. Then we moved into the lighthouse, which is… oh, it’s wonderful. Mim and I lived there until our hall was ready. (Whispers) I like our hall because we built it ourselves, but the lighthouse…
(Almost imperceptibly, the brothers lean against each other)
FÍLI: (with a soft smile) We go to there every full moon. We can see home from the top.
ME: Have you been back to the mainland?
(This question causes sudden tension in both brothers, Kíli more than Fíli, who tries to remain genial.)
FÍLI: Not yet. But soon.
KÍLI: (tightly) We’re waiting.
ME: For what?
FÍLI: (quickly jumping in) You see, after I gave away the Crown, there were some hard feelings toward us. The folk of Thorinutumnu have always supported us, thank Mahal, but… there are some…
ME: Do you mean Dáin?
FÍLI: No, not at all. I know what you’ve heard— that he drove us away, or maybe even worse— but these are only stupid rumors. Our cousin has been a true friend. He sent men to help us rebuild—
KÍLI: (cheerful again) Iron Hills people know how to make things weather-tight, which is good, because it rains for part of every single day here!
FÍLI: —and he’s also taken good care of Mother.
(The mention draws an affectionate smile from both brothers; their feelings are very plain)
ME: You must miss her.
KÍLI: Yes, so much!
ME: Have you been back to see her?
FÍLI: (again, rushing to answer) She’s been to see us! But we’re hoping to visit home next Blessed Green—
KÍLI: (obstinate) If it’s safe.
ME: Safe?
KÍLI: From them.
ME: Who are ‘them’?
(Fíli gives me a cautioning look and touches his brother’s arm. After a few seconds Kíli relents. He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths before speaking again)
KÍLI: It’s a long story. Mim’s better than me at telling it.
FÍLI: (carefully) We have some friends – very clever and very loyal – who overheard some talk against Zanid and me. No one realized how serious the talk was until other people stepped forward to warn us about it. It’s the reason why we came here… and it’s the reason why we stay…
The kettle has begun to whistle. Kíli hops up and takes it off. He pries up the lid, throws in some tea to brew, and leaves the room to fetch mugs. Fíli leans forward to speak to me in a low, urgent voice.
FÍLI: I’m sorry— I don’t mean to be rude, but the memory of what happened always upsets my naddith. We try to avoid it.
ME: I’m so sorry.
FÍLI: It’s all right; you couldn’t have known. (He glances at the doorway, but it’s empty, so he continues to speak) It’s still so vivid for him, even though it was five years ago. He was under terrible strain then; I don’t think he would have ever gotten well if we had not come here. He’s been so much better since! In five years, he’s only fallen a handful of times, and never too badly.
ME: I’m glad of that. He seems happy— the both of you do.
FÍLI: Yes. We’ve worked hard. There’s much to be glad about, and much to be grateful for.
Kíli reenters, balancing a pile of stacked mugs and a plate of honey-drizzled flatbread.
KÍLI: Did you tell her about Jera and Nori?
FÍLI: (grins) Ah! Our married friends. We’ve asked them to come. We’re hoping they might decide to move here.
KÍLI: Torli and Skili and Hahal are coming, they’ve already decided. They want to work in our forge. Jera can, too. She’s good with iron.
FÍLI: And she knows how to heal. (He tilts his head toward Kíli, who is busy pouring tea)
KÍLI: Our good friend Dori – that’s Nori’s brother – has come and gone several times. He’s cutting the stone we’re going to dedicate to Uncle. (Hands me my mug) You’ll come to the raising, won’t you? Tharkûn is going to be there.
ME: …’Tharkûn’?
FÍLI: ‘Gandalf’ is the name you know him by. We call him Tharkûn.
KÍLI: (with mouth full of honeyed bread): Gimli’s coming, too. And Ninur.
ME: Gimli I’ve met, but Ninur… Do you mean the elder?
FÍLI: No longer. He stepped aside for Navrin. It was time.
KÍLI: (swallowing hard) We don’t like Navrin. He won’t be invited. But we like Ninur, and he knew Uncle well.
FÍLI: I wish Fenja would come, but she refuses to get on a boat. She says that Khazâd are meant to delve earth, not cross water. (Wistfully) She’s not getting younger, and we really want to see her again.
KÍLI: It’s not until spring, Mim. There’s still time to convince her.
FÍLI: (very softly) I hope you’re right.
(Realizing what his brother means, Kíli ducks his head in shame. Fíli takes his hand and cradles it tenderly between his own. He looks to me for help)
FÍLI: Ask Kíli about his bees.
ME: (to Kíli, encouraging) Your skill as a keeper is famed far and wide. Is this Himling honey?
KÍLI: (pink-faced, but beginning to regain his pluck) Yes. Do, do you like it?
ME: It has a wonderful flavor, rich, almost spicy.
KÍLI: We have a lot of strange wildflowers here that my bees like. I was worried they wouldn’t prosper here, or that they would be blown away by the wind, but it’s funny. They do better here than they’ve done anywhere else.
ME: Like you and Fíli.
(Kíli turns to look at his brother, who kisses his hand)
Upon discovering that Himling- formerly Himring- still stood after mainland Beleriand was destroyed, I had the sudden urge to write this fic.
If you think, "Hey, metal can't last this long!" at the end (I'm unsure actually), then chalk it up to Elvish skill/magic (I use the slash because Elves themselves are unsure how to define magic).
“Do not go, Elrond. The Third Age is upon us, and the time for this sentiment is long past.”
There were times when Elrond did not particularly enjoy the company of his mother-in-law. She was rarely wrong, and she knew it. Elrond usually knew it too, though, so he was never annoyed unless it involved him.
“Ignore her, dear. You have to do this. For your sake.”
And so, following the advice of his lovely wife, he commandeered a ship.
Truthfully, it was not nearly so romantic as that. It was more borrowing a ship rather than commandeering it. It was not Elrond standing stoically at the front, taking the wheel and steering the boat to his destination, but a complete crew sent with him by Círdan, the most hardened he had to take Elrond to the long abandoned island of Himling.
He had to see it. He had to see it at least once.
He would be leaving soon (in their years, for mortal Men counted so differently, and it was harder and harder to believe he was kin to them as he grew older), and he would never come back to Middle-earth until the ending of Arda itself. He had to see it.
When they arrived on the small island, only Elrond went onto land. The sailors could have used respite on shore, but they refused, whether out of respect for Elrond or some deep fear of this remnant of Beleriand he wasn’t sure.
The island was no more than a couple miles any direction you went; if it had been flat you would have been able to see all the way across it. But Himling had been a hill back when it was Himring, and a hill it remained.
Elrond was pleased to find the remains of an old staircase that lead to the fortress in days of old, built directly into the hill. He climbed them, fingers clutching at the soil and grass next to him as he climbed. The stairs were millennia old and crumbling now, even step more dangerous than the last.
He was one of the oldest beings in Middle-earth now, and this place was older than he was. It was almost liberating, the feeling. Being a bastion of peace and hope in a hostile world was no easy feat, especially not when Galadriel and all the other Elves were closing their borders. He would not be able to leave lmladris again.
It was a long climb to the top of the steps, but his stamina was enough to make it without resting. He took a moment when he was at the top, looking back the way he had come. He could see Círdan’s ship with its white sails on top of the sea. He glanced up, half expecting to see the Northern Star.
He turned back again and examined the view in front of him. There was not as much as he’d secretly hoped for. The ruins were just that- ruins. Beautiful ones, nonetheless, with trees and shrubs intertwining the stone. As he stepped forward, he could see the shape the fortress must have had, could approximately see what it had looked like. In his mind’s eye it built up around him, a ghost castle for his heart’s shadows to live in.
There were only three remnants of the walls bigger than him, but all of them had some sort of carving on them, weathered by time. He peered closely at one and thought he might be able to see an image of the Silmarils, but that might just be wishful thinking.
He stood examined the area for several hours, eating lunch from a satchel he’d brought, sitting under an old oak tree right in the middle of the top of the hill. He liked that life still grew here. Nature abandoned the ground where evil things had been, and Elrond did not believe that the Fëanorians had been evil.
The idea of Maedhros living here so long, of Maglor and the other brothers visiting in days long past, when the world was young, made Elrond feel both old and young again. He had been alive for the last of the Elder Days, but he had not been there for the greatest follies of his chosen kind, and he could not be sorry for it, even if the loremaster in him half wanted it. He thought it better to be ignorant of pain until there was no other option.
He stood in the midst of a living monument and remembered his earliest days until the sun went down. If any had seen him they would have thought him a part of the ruins.
When the sun began to go down he finally stirred, standing and stretching his limbs. A long journey there and back for one day, but it had been worth it, even if he was leaving feeling a little stranger inside.
As he began to heads towards the steep steps, his boot hit something hard. He paused, reaching down and using the last light of the sun to dig through the soft soil, spending several minutes searching before he finally found what his boot had hit.
He pulled several long metal strings out of the ground, staring at them for a long moment before jolting slightly, recognizing what they were. Harp strings. He’d found harp strings in the ground. He stood quickly, clutching the wrapped metal. He couldn’t know, of course, whether the harp it had once belonged to one of the court’s musicians or Maglor himself. Either way it was a sign of Elvish life from before the fortress had been lost, from when Himring was the solid, bleak barrier between good and evil. If only it had been able to protect Maedhros and Maglor from their own deeds.
He laid the metal in his satchel, one last thought occurring to him as he descended the steps. The harp strings could have landed there much later than he’d first thought. Maglor was, after all, still out there.
